Life Outside the Oval Office: The Track Less Traveled

by Nick Symmonds

  When I saw the time, I collapsed to the track. I had done it. I had risked everything for this, but the risk had paid off. Jebreh came over and picked me up off the ground. He congratulated me and I thanked him for doing so much of the work in the race. After I told him he helped me shave almost a second off my personal best he asked if I would like to join him for a cool down run. “Yes,” I said. “But first I need to call my parents.”

  I gave them a quick replay of the race and then told them the time that I had run. I heard Mom and Dad rejoicing on the other end of the line, and it made me happy to share this moment with them. I couldn’t have done this without their love and support and told them so. As I cooled down with Jebreh, I asked what the USATF Championships were like and what I should expect. He gave me a few good pointers before he wished me good luck.

  Tired, but thrilled, I went to a corner of the track where my backpack lay. I put on my old sweats and packed the rest of my gear. Before I got up to return to my hotel I took a minute to look around. It was still very warm and I could smell the fresh-cut grass of the infield. The sun was just starting to set and the sky was a brilliant shade of pink and orange. I ran my hand along the rough, rubbery track and thought I want this to be my office.

  7

  That night, after the race in Nashville, I went out for burgers and beers with a few of the other runners. But each time I got up to purchase a beer someone stepped in to buy it for me. “Not every night you get to buy a national record holder a beer,” one guy said as he handed me a cold one. As badly as I wanted to stay out and experience the nightlife of Nashville, I knew I had to get up early to fly back to Oregon. So I thanked everyone and called it an early night.

  The next morning I woke before sunrise and got on a plane bound for Portland. When I landed, my parents and my sister, who had also just touched down, greeted me. We quickly loaded up a rental car and shared stories as my dad rushed us down I-5 toward Salem. I had my cap and gown packed and threw them on as he pulled into the Willamette University parking lot. As I got out of the car I saw that my classmates were already filling into the quad where the ceremony was to be held, and I sprinted over to find my place among them.

  Later that evening, sitting around a table with my family at a very nice restaurant, I replayed the events of the weekend for them. So much had taken place over the previous four years to bring me to this point in my life. I was now an unemployed college graduate with zero job offers, but I had booked my ticket to the USA National Championships where one good race could change my life forever. It seemed that the timing could not have been better. Just as one chapter of my life was coming to an end, the next path that I was to choose seemed to be presenting itself.

  As had happened when I chose cross-country over soccer and a Division III school over a Division I program, some people questioned my decision to choose running over a more stable, predictable career. It began during one of my last classes with my fellow chemistry majors. Many of the professors in our department had gathered us together to share what we would be doing the following year. As my classmates rattled off the names of the PhD or MD programs they had been accepted into I felt my heart begin to race. What am I going to say? When it came my turn I smiled and said, “I’m going to train for the 2008 Olympic Trials.”

  Everyone smiled and nodded, but I could tell they all thought I was crazy. One girl who had been on the cross-country team leaned in and whispered, “You’re not fast enough to run professionally, are you?” Despite the overwhelming negativity I felt in that room, my gut told me I was choosing the right path. Thankfully, one of my favorite professors came up to me as I walked out and said, “I believe in you,” as she squeezed my shoulder.

  I have found that when you are on the road less traveled people often doubt your chosen path. Their negativity creeps in and makes you question your own gut decisions. Those few words of encouragement from my professor reminded me that I was on my right path, and I clung to her words.

  Aside from my family and one lone professor, I knew another place where I could find people who believed in me. The first Monday after graduation I went to the track to knock out a run and some strides. When I walked into the locker room my teammates greeted me with great enthusiasm. Many had sent congratulatory messages after the race in Nashville, but now, nearly everyone came up to personally shake my hand or give me a hug.

  Willamette University will never be known for its incredible track and field team the way the University of Oregon is, but the men and women of the Bearcat Pack made my time there special and memorable. All of them––except one particularly stubborn man.

  When I walked onto the track I saw Coach Kendrick standing at the fifty-yard line, smack in the middle of the field. As I approached, he asked what I was doing at his practice, and reminded me that after what I pulled in Tennessee I was no longer part of his team.

  I had expected this, and told him I would be happy to talk to a school administrator to find out more official thoughts on the matter. I went on to say that I was pretty sure the administrator would want me to represent the university and defend the five national titles I had already earned for Willamette. At this, Coach Kendrick stepped toward me, just inches from my face. Though he was considerably larger, I was prepared to kick his ass if he so much as touched me. Instead, he said I would be allowed to defend my titles, but that he would no longer coach me.

  I think he saw his pronouncement as some kind of punishment, but it was music to my ears. Not only would I get to finish my collegiate career and defend my titles, I was going to get to do so my way. I had already been supplementing his workouts with my own, and now I had the freedom to write the entire program myself! I had just over four weeks until the USATF Championships and saw this as an enormous opportunity to prepare.

  After I walked off the field, I started my first warm-up as a liberated athlete. At the time, my anger and frustration with Coach Kendrick prevented me from putting myself in his shoes. Had I done so, I would have seen that he just wanted me to be successful. At least, he had in the beginning. At some point our failure to communicate prevented us from forming a solid coach-athlete relationship.

  I have had many coaches in my history as an athlete and have gotten along with most. The ones I have had the best relationship with view a coach-athlete relationship as a partnership. They never talked down to an athlete and always included them in the decision making process. Coach Kendrick, on the other hand, wanted to run his program like a Division I dictatorship. What he failed to realize was that he was coaching a Division III program, and therefore did not have any of his athletes under scholarship. This limited the amount of leverage he had when he tried to force an athlete to do something.

  When Matt McGuirk had visited my home in Boise when I was being recruited by Willamette University he asked my mother one question: how do I get Nick to buy into the program? She laughed and replied that I was stubborn and opinionated, but that I was also very logical. She told him that if he took the time to explain his plan and walked me through why he had me do each workout, I would eventually buy into his program.

  While most of my coaches followed this plan, Coach Kendrick did not. I like to think that he was just young, and was cutting his teeth on me. I hope that he has since learned that being a dictator typically does not work with amateur athletes who are not under scholarship, or with elite athletes who want to have some say in their training and race schedule. I hope for his current athletes’ sake that he has learned to communicate better. I don’t know if he has or not, as he and I stopped talking, for the most part, after that day at the fifty-yard line.

  I was clearly stubborn and arrogant at this time in my life, but at least I had the good sense to make a phone call before throwing myself into training for the USATF Championships. The call I made was to Coach Shanahan, my former high school coach who was still whipping Bishop Kelly High’s youth into shape back in Boise. Coach Shanahan had been one of those coaches who always took time
to listen. He also took time to explain the method to his madness. I was glad that we had stayed close since my graduation from high school.

  Coach Shanahan offered to help write my workouts and said he would serve as a sounding board for me if I needed help in my preparations. I gratefully accepted his offer. To sweeten the deal, Coach Jimmy Bean agreed to continue to implement the workouts that Coach Shanahan and I wrote together. Between Coach Shanahan’s experience and Jimmy’s loyal support I had the perfect set up to get me where I needed to go. And, as always, Coach Sam was by my side. I grinned when he told me he had already booked his ticket to Indianapolis where the championships were being held.

  During this transition period, the end of my amateur career looked a lot like the beginning of my pro career. I had my support team in place and was living the life of a pro, with one exception: I could not yet accept money. I first had to finish my NCAA eligibility by competing at my last NCAA Division III National Championship.

  I flew with the Willamette track team to Lisle, Illinois to defend my titles. Needless to say, there were some awkward moments with Coach Kendrick. With Coach Sam and Coach Jimmy keeping us as far apart as possible, I was able to remain focused. As I had in every NCAA Division III Track and Field national title race, I crossed the finish line in first place, twice.

  When I had accomplished this the year before I had felt a sense of anger and frustration. Now I only felt joy and completion. This was the perfect way to end my collegiate career. Where I felt like I was lacking a challenge during my junior year, I now looked at my NCAA races as the perfect way to get my body ready for the USATF Championships.

  After the meet I cooled down with a friend, Will Leer. We had only met a few weeks prior to these championships. Though he was a year younger than I was, he ran with the strength and maturity of someone much older. Added to this was the fact that he wore a thick, glorious mustache. I liked him immediately. I liked him even more when he suggested we go to the nearest convenience store and grab a case of beer. We spent the rest of that sunny afternoon lying on a grassy berm, watching the other races while we took pulls from our brown-bagged, ice-cold lagers.

  When I returned to Oregon my first order of business was to pack up my things. The lease that Everett, Cooper, and I had signed was up and the house had to be vacated. This left me in a tough position, as the USATF Championships were still several weeks away. I asked for a meeting with an administrator at Willamette University.

  The administrator began our meeting by congratulating me on all the titles I had won for the school. I said thank you, and then asked what kind of assistance Willamette University could offer me through the end of the current track season.

  At most universities it is not uncommon for a school to support their spring athletes until the end of their seasons, especially if the athlete is going to represent the university at a major sporting event, such as the USATF National Championships. I proposed that in exchange for temporary housing in a dorm and a plane tickets to Indianapolis, I would continue to wear my Willamette University singlet and, in doing so, provide the school with some incredible national exposure.

  Unfortunately, the administrator must not have seen the value in this. I was wished luck in my future athletic endeavors, but told that WU would no longer support me in any financial way.

  I was very disappointed at this news. Moreover, I was shocked at the ignorance. I understood that Willamette was an academic institution, and that athletics are not a priority for them, but I felt abandoned by my alma mater. I had earned the school seven national titles. My family had given them over one hundred thousand dollars for my education, and this was how the school wanted to end our relationship? By pulling out every bit of support when I needed it most?

  Not knowing what to do, I called Coach Sam. On the verge of tears, I explained to him that I had to be out of my rental by the end of the week and had no idea where I was going to live during the weeks that led up to the USATF Championships. The always generous and hospitable Coach Sam suggested that I move into his home until after the season was over. That was beyond his call of duty, but I was very grateful. I can honestly never thank him enough for all he has done for me. With that, I drove home to finish packing.

  With my coaching and living arrangements set, there was only one last piece to figure out: how to pay for the travel. I once again called Mom and Dad. As always, they came to my rescue, agreeing to cover my expenses that summer. Mom likes to joke that she was my first official sponsor. And, in a sense, she and Dad were. I was very lucky to have them help me financially, and doubt I ever would have made it this far without their support.

  My last bit of preparation for the USATF Championships was to fly to Palo Alto, California to race a 1500 at a “last chance” meet at Stanford University. This meet was set up to help people attain their qualifying marks in the 1500. I was not interested in racing the 1500 at the USATF Championships, so was simply in the race to try to run for a new personal best time.

  The Nike Farm Team, a small developmental team coached by legendary distance coach Frank Gagliano, put on the meet. “Gags” as everyone called him, was a large, ex-football coach who had been thrown into the sport of track and field several decades earlier when Rutgers cancelled their football program. Unsure what to do, they suggested he coach the track team. When he tells the story his reply to Rutgers is always, “What the hell do I know about running?” Hearing him tell the story today is quite comical, as he has coached more track and field Olympians than almost any other coach in America.

  I had heard a lot of stories about the legendary Gags. He had just entered his eighth decade of life and had an old school mentality. I heard that he could be very tough on the men and women he coached, but that you couldn’t find a man who loved his athletes more. I walked up to the big guy with the kind face and introduced myself. I mentioned that I had just graduated and was looking for a coach. I was surprised that Gags had heard of me, and he even let me in on a rumor that Nike might be moving the Farm Team to Eugene, Oregon at the end of the year. “Keep improving and we may have a spot for you,” he said before slapping me on the back and walking off.

  I laced up my shoes and began my warm up, happy that the legendary Coach Gags knew who I was and, more importantly, was considering coaching me. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, and knowing exactly what was at stake, I ran the race of my life that evening. I finished third, but shaved another five full seconds off of my personal best in the 1500 meters.

  After the race Coach Gags gave me a giant bear hug. “I’m proud of you kid,” he whispered in my ear. In three years of running for Coach Kendrick I had never once heard those words. As I was cooling down, Gags talked with Coach Bean, and with my dad, who had flown down to watch the race. Gags explained that the rumor of Nike creating a team in Eugene was really closer to fact, and that after tonight he very much wanted to coach me. Everything was falling into place, but I still needed to have a good showing at the USATF Championships if I was to secure a sponsorship with a shoe company.

  In the world of professional track and field, “shoe contacts,” as we call them, are often the largest source of income for an athlete. In many other nations, the government provides ample support for their Olympians. However, here in America, there is little financial support from the government and athletes are dependent on corporate partners for income. I was aware of this from the start and knew I needed to draw attention from the various shoe manufacturers if I wanted to fund the next two years of my life as I trained for the 2008 Olympic Trials.

  As I packed my bag for Indianapolis I thought about the various companies: Nike, Adidas, Reebok, etcetera. Then I looked at the mismatched selection of branded running apparel I had acquired over the years and realized I had no idea what to race in. I didn’t want to wear a Willamette University singlet, as they no longer supported me. Also, I wanted to remain brand neutral so as not to scare off any potential partners.

  Finally, I decided
to wear a beat up, black Bishop Kelly High School singlet and plain black running shorts manufactured by Brooks Running. The singlet had been manufactured back in the 1970s and was quite worn, but it was one of my favorite possessions. Wearing the black and gold singlet was my way of paying homage to my parents, who were funding this adventure, and to Coach Shanahan, who was writing my workouts.

  My dad and Uncle Ed had already committed to coming out and supporting me in Indianapolis. Uncle Ed is my mom’s brother-in-law and had always been supportive of my career. I think he was equally as excited to watch me race as he was to play several rounds of golf with my dad in Indiana. It was a great way for them to kill time before my races. Though Mom and Lauren had school obligations back in Boise, they promised they would be watching on the television.

  Coach Sam was going to be there too, but would arrive two days after I did. I was grateful and eager to have him along, because nerves overwhelmed me as soon as I stepped out of the plane in muggy Indiana. The greatest meet I had ever known was the NCAA Division III nationals, and this meet was many levels higher than that. Am I in over my head here?

  As we stood in line to get my race packet, I glanced around the room and saw many Olympians. All around me were track and field royalty. Olympic medalists Bernard Lagat, Allyson Felix, and Jeremy Wariner were standing just feet away from me. I need to get autographs and pictures with them! I had looked up to these athletes for years and wasn’t sure if I would ever have an opportunity like this again. But, afraid of looking like a dopey, out of place, Division III kid, I left them alone and remained patiently in my place in line.

  Nearby there was a list of competitors for the men’s 800 meters. Thirty-two names were listed. This field of thirty-two would be narrowed down to sixteen in round one. Those sixteen semi-finalists would then be narrowed down to eight in round two. The eight finalists would then race one last time to decide who would be that year’s national champion. My qualifying time of 1:47.3 put me at the bottom of the list of competitors. I tried not to let this psych me out, and reminded myself that I had not lost an 800 meter final in seven years. This weekend I would be pushed to my limit and would finally find out just how fast I could cover two laps of the rubber oval.